My Point Of No Return
by Tell Her This
Summary: Alternate version to season 6 finale. 'As you speed down the slip road and onto the highway, the tears flow freely, relentlessly down your face. This is your point of no return.' A look at the effects of JD and Elliot's mess on them and everybody else.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Repost under new account. Not plagiarised from mars2192. I am mars2192.**

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Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters. I'm just having fun.****My Point Of No Return**

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Your things are in the back of your car. Not all of your things; just enough to last you however long it will take you to drive to your parents' house. This, your midnight dash to escape the pain; the guilt of ruining four people's lives.

Four. Four you say, because you know that you have murdered any chance of a child growing up in a family with two parents that love it. Because you selfishly had sex with its father in the on call room while its mother was at home alone going into labour. You've become everything you tried so hard not to become. You've become your mother. You're a home wrecker.

Except maybe you're not. Because if he'd been so concerned about breaking up his family or if he really loved his child's mother, then he wouldn't have been with you in the on call room. You think that as if it should relieve your guilt. But if you were really concerned about breaking up his family or if you really loved your fiancé, then you wouldn't have been in the on call room with him.

You wrote him a note. You needed to explain everything. You needed to tell him that he needs to move on. Because you have. Except you haven't, not in the sense you're telling him to. You're just moving yourself away from him, because it'll make things better for everyone if you aren't there to fuck up their lives.

The note is in his locker. You drove to his apartment block to post it through his letterbox. You stood outside the door of the apartment block, but you turned around because you couldn't walk in there, knowing everything you'd done. All the damage you'd caused. So you drove around some more, until you plucked up the courage to walk through the doors of the hospital.

You walked quickly, trying your hardest not to be noticed. But still you felt everyone looking at you, their eyes burning into you, silently judging you. You deserve to be judged. You walked to Dr Kelso's office, your hand tightly, shakily clutching your resignation notice. You slipped it through the narrow gap between the door and the floor. You knew he wouldn't be there, not at this hour. You walked to the locker room; you needed to empty it before you left for good. You took out the items, your stethoscope, the snacks you were saving to tide you through the next few shifts you were supposed to be working. Your Christening dress. That was when you realised you were still in your light blue scrubs. The ones he said he liked you in. The ones that reminded him of when you were dating. You stood up, something in your head suddenly telling you that you were doing the right thing when up until that point you were filled with doubt. You slipped the note through the vent gaps in his locker. And that's when it was final.

You retraced your steps, both literally and metaphorically. You reversed the route you took into the hospital and you looked at every feature in the hospital, but your brain played scenes from the last six years, the craziest six years of your life. Instead of taking the elevator, you took the stairs and saw you and him racing up the stairs on your first day. You passed the pharmacy, and saw you and him calling Turk Buttface. You passed the ICU and saw yourself calming him down during is first train wreck code. You passed the on call room and saw you and him destroying everything you'd both built.

When you sat back down in your car, you saw everything that happened after. You saw the look on Keith's face when he walked in you and him in the act. You saw the disgusted look on Carla's face when she realised what the two of you had done. You saw the look on Kim's of hurt and pain, two things the same but so different at that time. You saw the look of contempt she gave him as someone wheeled her towards the maternity ward. You saw him look between you and her, not knowing where his loyalties should lie. You saw him looking you as if to say you would sort this out later. You saw him turning away from you, keeping himself wrapped up in the chaos while you started to detach yourself. You stepped backwards and watched the bedlam continue. You almost felt as if you were being sucked out of the situation, and it was happening further and further away from you until you realised you were outside of the hospital. You heard the silence. You felt the cold wind blowing against your face. You looked at the illuminated Sacred Heart Hospital sign on the wall and realised it was the last time you would be here.

You got in your car, and drove away.

You sit now at traffic lights, the red light glowing brightly telling you to stop. You stare at them, waiting for them to tell you to go, but like a watched pot, it never changes. You close you eyes and look down, your lame attempt to keep yourself from crying. You stay there, just looking down until a car behinds you sounds its horn, and you realise for the first time since you left that you're not alone in the world. That you're not alone with your problems. That his problems are going to continue, even if you're gone.

As you speed down the slip road and onto the highway, the tears flow freely, relentlessly down your face.

This is your point of no return.


	2. Chapter 2

You're standing at the ground floor reception, watching for him entering the hospital, because he hasn't in two days. You've stood there for the past two mornings, butterflies in your stomach for different reasons. Day one, you didn't know if he would speak to you after the look you gave them both right then. But you shouldn't feel guilty about it because if it had been anyone else, you would have acted the same. And that would be fine if it weren't for the fact you do feel guilty. Because they're your friends. Or they were your friends.

You don't know where your sympathy should lie. Your brain tells you that it should really lie with Keith and Kim, because they're the ones who have been hurt. And that would be fine if it weren't the fact you feel sympathy for the other two, the ones who are supposed to have caused the hurt. Because you know them well enough to know that they didn't mean to cause all this hurt. Or you thought you knew them well enough to know that they wouldn't mean to cause so much hurt.

You've been back and forward so many times in the last couple of days, you don't know what you know anymore. Which sucks, because people keep asking you what you know. Not that you would tell them anyway.

And you keep waiting for one of them to ask you what they should do, but that doesn't happen. Which is good, because you wouldn't know what to tell them this time. And you can't tell them what to do this time, because it seems they've gone and made up their minds. Or one of them has.

Dr. Cox walks towards you. He asks you the same question as he asked you yesterday morning, and the morning before that. "Waiting on Newbie?"

You are going to nod, but you don't, because he, the one you've been waiting on, walks through the door. Behind you, Dr Kelso mutters something about him looking like Hell in human form. You noticed it too, but didn't have the guts to say it.

"I really need to talk to her," he says, and you know whom he's talking about without him even having to give her a name. It's the look on his face that tells you. It isn't regret. It's pain and anguish but there's hope there. You'd be the first one to say it, that they never got over each other, not completely. That's what you think makes this all so difficult. "Where is she?"

It's the look on his face that stops you answering that question. You look down at the floor, like you used to when you were in high school and hoped the teacher wouldn't notice that you didn't know the answer to the question. But you do know the answer to that question, and he's looking to you for the answer. You can't give him the answer. You can't be the one to tell him this. You open your mouth to speak, but it's not your voice that says the words.

"She's gone, Newbie."

He looks to you for clarification. He wants you to explain, or tell him it isn't true. Quietly, he whispers. "What?"

You don't know if he doesn't understand it or if he doesn't believe it. His eyes plead with you to tell him, but you can't. You hear Dr Kelso talking a deep intake of breath, and you know what he's going to say.

"Dr Reid handed in her resignation notice two nights ago, effective immediately. She doesn't work here anymore, sport."

You watch. You expect his face to change, but it doesn't. The hope is still there. "But… she's still _here…_?"

"No," you say quietly. You wonder if he even heard it, because his face is still the same.

Then it crumbles. And he walks away.

You've been following their story from the start, but never did you think it would end up like this.

Never did you think it would go past the point of no return.


	3. Chapter 3

_Dude, this is messed up._

You've muttered those five words so many times in the last couple of days; they're beginning to seem like your answer to everything. But that's mostly because everything anybody has said to you has warranted that response.

People keep telling you that he's done a runner - he's gone missing. You keep telling them that he's not the only one, but nobody seems to care. You think it's weird that nobody but a select few is worrying about her. It seems here that people are being quick to target her with the blame, but you think that's maybe because she's not here to defend herself. Because she's gone missing too.

Maybe this wouldn't be happening, you think, if you hadn't been such a bastard about him walking away from that medical conference when he found out Kim was still pregnant. Who the hell were you to give him a hard time about it? How the hell could you know what that would have felt like? You've tried to put yourself in that situation. You've tried to imagine what you would do in that situation, what you would do if Carla had lied to you about Izzie – but you can't. It's totally unimaginable.

But so is this.

You've been walking about the hospital, your hand keeping a tight grip on your cell phone, juts in case one of them calls to say 'Hey, I'm at such and such a place' or 'Hey, I'm not about to jump from the rooftop of a multi-storey building.' You don't think he would do anything that drastic – she could be a different story altogether, which has something to do with why you're surprised nobody seems to be so worried – but still you've been up to the roof four times to check. Just in case.

Dr Cox walks briskly towards you. "Still no sign of Carol yet?"

"Not yet."

"And… and Barbie?"

You wave your cell phone slightly. "Working on it."

"Let us know if you hear anything, okay."

He walks away, and you back to thinking where either of them could be – places you haven't tried yet, places you should try again. You hold down the '2' button, the speed dial for his cell phone. It rings and rings, but there's no answer. "Hey, man," you say after the beep, "call me back if…when you get this." You hang up the phone with one hand, and rattle your fingers against the cafeteria table. You flick through your contacts list of your cell phone; maybe you'll have some sudden epiphany of where either one of them could be. You stop on a number. You think. Would she go there? It's hardly likely, but at this point, anywhere's worth a shot.

First ring.

Second ring.

This is when you realise that with each phone call you've made, you've been counting how many times it's been ringing and slowly losing hope each time. But when someone does answer, it's like you're in a pitch-black tunnel and somebody has shone a light for you to see. This time is no exception.

"Hello? Is that Mrs Reid?" You hold the phone away from your ear slightly as the woman on the other end attempts to flirt. If her mother was like this with everyone, you think, no wonder she was screwed up. The woman stops speaking, so you begin. "Um, I was wondering if you had seen or heard anything from Elliot?" You remain quiet as the woman tells you some shallow stories about her daughter, but you don't have time for this. "Look, this is really important. Have you heard anything from Elliot in the last couple of day at all?"

The woman stays silent for a moment. "No, I haven't," she says, and it feels like that light in your pitch-black tunnel just disappeared. " Is something wrong?"

Everything's wrong, you want to say. But you don't. "Uh, no. Look, if you do hear anything from her would you please tell her to call Turk."

The woman asks you for a phone number.

"Just tell her to call Turk. She'll know what it means."

The phone call ends quickly after that. You toss the cell phone on the table and quietly curse. You feel Carla's hands touching your shoulders and you smile.

"Any luck?" she asks hopefully.

It breaks your heart that you don't have better news. "This is messed up," you mutter.

You think this maybe it's passed the point of no return.


	4. Chapter 4

You'd never admit it to anyone, but it kills you to see it end up like this. You've been keeping a close but subtle eye on Newbie Theatre as you so un-affectionately named it, and you'd always thought there'd maybe be a happy ending for Gladys and Barbie.

You're not used to the role you're playing in this production. Normally, you don't voluntarily play the part of the person who is strong for everyone else. Normally, you just have a long-winded, belittling rant. Normally, you just tell them to get some stones and deal with the problem themselves. Normally, you try to stay the hell out of it.

But as so many other people have said already, this isn't normal.

You had to be the one to tell him that she had bolted. You had to do it because Carla was crumbling.

You've noticed that the background people – the other hospital staff – have been focusing on the action and effects of the central characters; the ones that everybody talks about around the water cooler. But people seem to be forgetting about the effects on the supporting players.

Take Carla, who feels so gosh-darn guilty because she thinks she didn't listen enough when Barbarella was complaining to her about her marriage doubts. Carla told her it was just a phase and it would pass. But it didn't and now Carla's losing sleep because she's blaming herself.

Then there's Gandhi. He has spent every waking moment and at least fifty dollars trying to track Blondie to make sure she's okay because no one else will. He's beating himself up because he thinks he wasn't a supportive enough friend to Susan when Kim lied about the miscarriage. He thinks this crap wouldn't have happened if he'd been a better sorority sister to Rachel.

The Dudemeister feels guilty too. He lived in denial. He recognised the signs but chose to ignore them. He convinced himself that they were just really close friends. He thinks that a whole lot of hurt could have been avoided if he had woken up and smelled the coffee.

Kim thinks she caused the whole situation because she lied about the miscarriage. Full stop.

And how do you know all this? Because you've taken on the role of the agony uncle who listens to everybody else's problems. You're not doing very well, because this isn't what you're used to.

When you're listening to everyone talk about what part they played, your mind keeps going back to this one patient. Mr Foster his name was. He died and you accused the four horsewomen of the apocalypse – Carla, Gandhi and… _them_ – of screwing up so you made them go to and M and M conference and retell their actions on that day to see who screwed up. Big Bobbo summed it up perfectly at the end of that conference.

Everybody had his or her part to play. There was no one person to blame for Mr Foster's death.

And no one person was blame for all this shit. Everybody had his or her part to play.

Carla's was to dismiss Barbie's freak out as pre-wedding jitters. Ghandi's was to be a jerk when his friend needed him most. Keith's was to turn a blind eye. Kim's was to let a lie get out of control.

And your part?

Well, you're not sure what exactly you did. Maybe you were too harsh when to you told Barbie that she was settling. Maybe you were too sarcastic about the girl/girl impregnation. Who knows. You just know you had a part to play somehow. And like the others you feel some degree of guilt for whatever you did. Not that you're going to say anything about it.

There was another thing about Mr Foster. He had a pulmonary embolism. Nobody caught it on his scan; nobody could have seen his death coming. Just like nobody could have seen this coming.

You've joined in the hunt for Newbie. You're telling people that it's because there's not much going on today and because Jordan threatened to sledgehammer your stones if you didn't. That's not _completely_ the reason why you're doing it, but you're not completely sure that that reason is. Maybe it's because you've had to explain to twenty-odd patients why they've suddenly got a new doctor. Maybe it's because you are concerned about Samantha and what she might do to herself. Maybe it's because you think you all might have a better chance of finding them if you split the effort (you find Polly and Turk concentrates of tracking down Barbie). Maybe it's because you can see how drained everybody else is trying to clear up their mess.

It's been an hour since you started Newbie Hunt. So far you've checked all of the obvious places: the cafeteria, supply closets, the on-call room. You're thinking of other places he could be now. You're walking towards the morgue. You realise that the morgue would be the ideal place for someone to hide. It's secluded. It's full of dead people. The only living person that goes there is Nervous Guy and, hell, he'd be too nervous to say anything anyway.

You gently push the morgue door and let it creak open itself so as not to startle anybody who might be in there. Only a small ray of the setting sunlight shines through the frosted glass window but it gives you just enough light to see Newbie's white sneakers. You step further into the cold room and see that he's sitting in the foetal position. His back is leaning on the grey tiled wall, his knees pulled up to his chest, his eyes closed.

"Taking a nap?" you say. "Here, I thought you were supposed to be a doctor, which means you're supposed to look after your patients."

Newbie responds only by opening his eyes slowly.

"Or maybe you're checking Mr Hassomestones into the freezers. Or just perhaps you're here for the results of the autopsy on you and Barbie's lives. Well here's the inside scoop. Turns out that sleeping with a soon-to-be married woman in an on call room while her fiancé is just walking into the hospital and your pregnant girlfriend is sitting at home going into labour kills relationships of every kind. Love, friendship… you name it, that kills it."

You know what you said must have felt like a knife twisting in his heart by the way he winces when you talk.

"You know, nobody is blaming you for any of this mess. Everybody's punting the blame on her. Bit unfair, don't you think? She's not here to defend herself so it's easy for them to take shots at her."

"Dr Cox-"

"You know what else is unfair? Everybody else is trying to clear up the mess that you two have made. Really. Do you know how much time and money Turk has spent trying to track down Barbie? Do you realise how much sleep Carla's been losing, worrying about the two of you?"

"Dr Cox, I don't want to hear this," he says quietly, but his voice is thick with tears.

"_Well you're gonna."_

You think about how everybody's taken on different roles; everybody's playing different parts than they're used to; how you've taken the role of the person who listens to everyone else's problems. You think also about those little saying that are some variation of 'stick to what you know'. Stick to what you're best at.

"Listen here, Shirley, while you're sitting down here moping about how much you've fucked up, other people are picking up the slack. They're covering your shifts and talking to Kim trying to sort out the times when you'll get to see your son and you're sitting down here acting like some pissy little ingrate. Why should everybody else go to all this much trouble? You and Barbie, you two brought this on yourselves. Yes, that's right, I said you _two._ And if you had any balls at all, you'd be up there taking your share of the blame instead of letting her get pummelled with it. And for the love of God, Newbie, you're a doctor, and this isn't 'bring your problems to work day', so get back to work." You give a slight snarl, because it's what you're used to.

Newbie stands up, and you see that he's tightly clutching a white envelope. He looks you in the eye, and you see how red his eyes are from crying and sleep deprivation. He passes you and walks out of the door, and you feel a degree of guilt set in. You think maybe you were too harsh, too spiteful.

You know the guilt will fade if it brings Newbie back from the point of no return.


	5. Chapter 5

Your things are in the back of your car. Not all of your things; just enough to last you for the few days you'll be staying in the hotel. You told Kim to take your apartment while she looked for a place in Tacoma. She needs it more than you do right now. She has the baby too look after.

They're being discharged today, Kim and the baby. You should be happy, but you can't stop thinking about how you've fucked up.

You should have known it would end up like this. You should have known that sleeping with her, no matter how much you wanted to at the time, would cause this much damage.

Normally it's just you and her that get hurt. You'll be hurt when she goes back to her boyfriend and she'll get hurt when you tell her you don't love her. But this time is different. You've both got things to lose and you've both got others to hurt.

The baby boy, your son, is named Sam, after your late father. Kim said you could name the baby anything you wanted, after what she'd done to you. That was before the shit hit the fan. You don't think you deserve such honours now. How is what she did to you any worse that what you did to her?

You wanted to sort things out with her. That night, when you went off with Kim, it wasn't because she meant less to you than Kim did. You don't know exactly why it was. Maybe it's because you were scared of what people would say if you left the mother of your child to go through labour on her own. Maybe you thought she would understand if you went with Kim. Maybe you thought you could fix things with her later. Fuck knows why you went with Kim, but you know you wanted to be with her. You wanted to be sorting things out with her.

But when you looked for her she wasn't there.

You went to her apartment and knocked on her door. But you got no answer. She's a heavy sleeper, you thought. So you knocked louder. And louder. And you said your apologies through the letterbox, just in case she was hiding somewhere, deliberately not answering the door. You thought if you apologised through the letterbox she's open the door. But she didn't. You looked through the letterbox, just for any signs of life. Her fuzzy pink slippers weren't by the door, you noticed. But her fuzzy pink slippers – ones you gave her among other things for her birthday – were _always­_ by the door.

You went to the hospital, not caring that you were already late for your shift. You just needed to speak to her. You walked through the hospital doors and Carla looked at you with an eerie mix of shock and fear. Quietly you said you needed to talk to her.

And that's when they told you she was gone.

She wrote you a note. You found it in your locker. Your locker that is right next to hers.

She said that she was sorry. She said that she was going away because she could be around to hurt you any more. She said that she hoped you would be happy with Kim and the baby. She said that you both needed to move on from each other. She said you both would in time. You don't think she was that convinced, because her handwriting changed. Her writing is always more slanted when she's unsure.

She didn't tell you where she was going.

You know she was upset when she wrote this letter. You can see the tear stains on the paper. The black of her mascara mixing with the blue of her pen. You can see your tear marks there too.

You've spent the majority of the last couple of days with your eyes closed. It's too painful to keep your eyes open, because when you do you see her. You see you and her racing up the stairs on your first day. You see you and her hiding in a closet during a code. You see you and her bungee jumping off of a bridge. You see her leaning on a post, smiling back at you.

She isn't physically there, you know that. But she's been a massive part of your life for the last six years that everywhere you look you're reminded of her. She's there, but not there.

You didn't want her to get hurt. You didn't want anybody to get hurt. You'd gladly feel the pain infinite time worse if it meant she wasn't hurting and she was here.

You're waiting for her to walk back through the doors. You _need _her to walk back through the doors.

Carla asked you what you felt for her, what you _really_ felt for her. You couldn't answer. You couldn't explain it. You can't explain it.

You've tried the relationship thing before. You've tried it before and it was train wreck. But if it's that much of a disaster then why do you always seem find yourselves in bed together?

They say you're someone who wants what he can't have. But this isn't wanting what you can't have.

_You need her to be here._

Maybe that's your answer. If you need her to be here then… then… hell, you don't know.

Do you feel guilty about all the hurt you've caused?

Yes.

Do you wish that it had never happened?

No. Because maybe, once the chaos is settled, it will be the beginning of something you've wanted since your first year.

Is that you answer? Is that your answer to Carla's question?

_You need her to be here._

You know you've fucked up. You know you'll never be able to look Kim – or Keith, for that matter – in the eye again without feeling the hatred, the blame, the guilt. You'll never be able to look your son in the eye and wonder if he resents you for not being with his mommy. You'll never be able to look at the other hospital staff without knowing that they're judging you.

But you can get through that together. You _will_ get through that together.

She'll come back. You're just waiting for her to come back. She'll be here soon.

_You need her to be here._

It's all you can do to hope that this isn't the point of no return.


End file.
